Unfortunately, a week wasn’t anywhere near enough time to train the twenty or so new additions to the team. They did have enough suits of power armor for all of them, once Sam made some repairs to the equipment salvaged from Thoth headquarters and Dan updated their runescripting, but having the equipment didn’t make the new hires combat-ready.
Abe and William had all too much fun drilling them on how to use their suits. Dan wasn’t entirely sure if the “drill sergeant screaming in your face” thing was real or just a movie schtick, but both of them seemed to get a kick out of using it on the fresh blood. Once things settled down a bit, Dan would instruct them on how to use magic. But, in the meantime, all they had to do was pour mana into the simple runes of the armor in order to fortify it.
The Orakh weren’t as agile as the elves. They were fast, but in the sense that a human athlete was fast. Other than their Shamans, most of them responded to bullets of a large enough caliber fairly favorably. True, you needed to confirm the kill, but a couple shots from a high-caliber weapon or a flamethrower was more than enough to bring them down.
The real problem was that the Orakh didn’t attack in small groups. Near the edge of the bayou, you’d only run into five or ten at a time, but the closer you got to their landing site, the larger the swarms you’d encounter. On a solo scouting mission, Dan had seen clusters of 200-plus Orakh, and he didn’t even make it that close to their main base. Worse, those groups were led by much larger and stronger variants of the Orakh that he hadn’t encountered yet.
In short, they were going in blind. Planes doing flyovers confirmed that there were “a helluva a lotta toads,” but beyond that, they had no idea as to the enemy’s numbers, composition and location. Due to potential logistical concerns regarding ammunition, all of the recruits were taught how to use melee weapons. Most of them had some knowledge of street fighting or brawling, and one or two practiced an actual martial art. They were given enchanted weapons to complement their skillsets, usually a knife or stiletto.
Regardless of their skill, all new soldiers were given enchanted axes with reinforced hafts and blades. Without the reinforcement, the powered armor’s enhanced strength would cause the weapons to shatter and their blades to deform after only a handful of blows. Hopefully, the axes would be a weapon of last resort, but if their team did have to rely on them, Dan wanted them to last.
The actual journey to the bayou was a strange affair. Half of the troops were just folks from the city, recently laid off or looking for some adventure. They’d been given AR-15s, about two weeks of training, and had been dubbed militia. Dan didn’t have any faith that they’d hold when the New Orleans Army, as it had taken to referring to itself, came into contact with the enemy. The militia spent the drive joking and sharing snacks. A couple of them even tried to shoot nearby wildlife from the back of the pickup trucks and school buses they were being transported in.
The actual professional soldiers and police forces, on the other hand, were fairly grim. They’d been out to the bayou, albeit much closer to the city than Dan and his team. The national guard forces were especially upset that they would have to abandon their armored vehicles at the edge of the swamp. They knew at least some of what they were in for, and they weren’t excited.
When they arrived, they were greeted by an engineering unit that had been on site for almost the entire week, putting together a motley collection of rafts, pontoon bridges, and boats. The plan was for the New Orleans Army to advance as a rough line, periodically checking in with each other via walkie talkie to ensure that no unit got dramatically ahead of another. Dan’s group would be taking a spot in the center of the order, where combat was expected to be the thickest. Behind them, reserves from the militia would be moving forward at a more measured pace via the pontoon bridges.
Dan wasn’t sure how much he liked the idea of using the militia as reserves. He’d worked with the guard and police units in the past and respected them. They might be in over their heads, but they knew how to keep their cool and work as a unit. He figured that the militia units were about as likely to run or panic and shoot his team in the back as actually fight the Orakh.
Admittedly, an AR-15 shot to the back wouldn’t do much more than scuff the paint on their suits and annoy Dan’s group, but at the same time, those sorts of distractions could cost them in the heat of combat.
The only good news was that the 122nd Air National Guard Squadron would be able to support them. William, Abe, and Jennifer all seemed to agree that the F-15Cs wouldn’t be the most helpful. Apparently, the jets were optimized for air to air combat and had minimal air to ground capabilities. Unfortunately, the bombers at Barksdale Airforce Base were sitting the battle out after receiving conflicting orders from the Governor and a smattering of federal representatives. They had observers working with the 122nd to see how things went, but Dan wouldn’t be able to rely on a B-52 to pull him and his team out of trouble if things went awry.
With a sigh, he opened the door to the semi they’d requisitioned for the ride out. He scrambled down, tuning out the tumult of voices and accents. The militia bragged and chatted about local sports teams while the professional soldiers were much quieter, only occasionally asking questions of their superiors about the supply chain. Dan grimaced slightly, sharing their concerns. The militia was supposed to be handling the supply chain, admittedly a better idea than actually throwing them into combat, and Dan wasn’t entirely sure how well that would work out for everyone.
Regardless, his team had their own pair of boats, laden heavy with ammunition and fuel for the resource-intensive powered armor. Two of their more nautically inclined recruits would be piloting the boats while another two manned the .50 caliber machine guns welded to them. Remy Bushear, the team’s new resident alligator hunter/poacher and all-around bayou expert simply looked at them and grunted, “too heavy.” The hope was that the powered armor could be used to pick up or drag the boats over shallow areas of the swamp.
A couple of the locals approached, whistling and admiring the powered armor as they loaded it off the back of the truck. Sam was already quietly opening each of the back clamshells on the carapaces on the twenty-two suits so that their pilots could climb in. Dan frowned slightly as the new recruits shot the breeze with the other units, obviously bragging about their new rides. He didn’t mind a little fun here and there, but the entire engagement seemed to have taken on a carnival air for too many of the soldiers.
“Ready to watch them pop their cherries?”
Dan jumped as Jennifer’s hand came down hard on his shoulder.
“If we had more time, we’d beat it out of them, but we needed numbers, so their training had to be accelerated. At the end of this, they’ll be soldiers or corpses. Not a whole lot in between out in that meat grinder.” She flicked her head toward the waiting swamp.
“I just don’t like to see them goofing off like this.” He pursed his lips, taking in the bawdy jokes being swapped between his troops and the militia. “They haven’t even fought yet, and already they’re bragging about how many Orakh they’re going to bag. It just doesn’t seem right.”
“Let ‘em.” Abe joined into the conversation from fifteen feet away where he checked over his armor. He was wearing the tight polymer catsuit used by the suits’ pilots. It made him look ridiculous, like he was wearing a full body speedo. “Before something like this, you’re either nervous or an idiot. Either way, they’re gonna need to brag and tell jokes. We’ll have a better idea of which category they fit into on the other side.”
Before Dan could reply, the walkie talkie he carried crackled.
“Thrush, you read me, over?” A man’s voice asked, slightly marred by the static of the finicky device.
“This is Thrush,” he replied. “Who am I speaking to, over?”
“Major Champlain with General Richard’s staff,” the man answered. “Captain Anderson and I will be in charge of coordination and communication throughout the offensive. Keep your walkie talkie fixed to this channel, and somebody will pick you up on the switchboard if you make a request or a report, over.”
“Sounds good to me,” Dan responded. “What’s the time table? My team will be ready to go in about twenty to thirty minutes, but I don’t want them in their suits until we’re ready to move out. Otherwise, they’re just going to be sitting around wasting fuel, over.”
“We don’t want to keep anyone waiting too long.” Champlain chuckled, his voice scratchy through the walkie talkie. “The militia are liable to get bored and crack open a couple beers or start a barbeque if we don’t put them to work. Right now, the plan is one hour and ten minutes. We still need to get the artillery and command and control set up before we send you into that mess, over.”
“Understood, over,” Dan made eye contact with Jennifer and Abe.
“I’ll talk to the boys and get them ready,” Abe supplied, nodding to Dan as he walked past him toward the rest of the unit.
“ALL RIGHT YOU DICKLESS WASTES OF CARBON!” Abe immediately began shouting at the recruits, interrupting their bravado-laden yarns. “WE HAVE ONE HOUR UNTIL WE HIT THE WATER, AND THAT MEANS I NEED EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU TO DOUBLE CHECK EVERY SYSTEM ON YOUR SUITS AND ENSURE A FULL LOADOUT. A SINGLE SUBSYSTEM INSTALLED INCORRECTLY OR ONE RUNE OUT OF PLACE COULD BE THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOU BEING RICH OR ORAKH FOOD.”
Dan winced slightly, turning back to Jennifer. “I really think he enjoys that too much,” he said dryly.
“He really has let a load off since we met him in the Jungle,” she shrugged. “I think replacing all of the military’s red tape with you, someone who actually listens, really helped his mood.”
“It only made your Dad more cranky.” The corner of Dan’s mouth quirked up into a half-smile.
“Dad was always cranky.” Jennifer rolled her eyes, turning away from him to walk toward the boat launch located at the edge of the swamp. “I’m pretty sure he was the red tape that Abe needed to get away from. Now, check out the boats with me. We don’t want to get halfway out into the bayou only to find out that one of the locals siphoned our gas to run a grill or something.”
Dan chuckled, following her to the waiting vessels.
